


your dirty mouth, full of honest lies

by captainoir



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:48:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainoir/pseuds/captainoir
Summary: Bonnie peaks out and Lorenzo waves at her. She wonders if he notices how she watches Klaus intently beside him, how he grips the sword handle as if he is ready to use it, eyes flickering from her to her husband.Danger, screams Bonnie’s nerves, but she is too high up to stop them from leaving through the castle gates.[or: good queen bonnie has to temper a kingdom, evade assassins and divine the intentions of the newly appointed knight Niklaus.]
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett/Klaus Mikaelson, Bonnie Bennett/Lorenzo "Enzo" St. John
Comments: 11
Kudos: 67





	your dirty mouth, full of honest lies

**Author's Note:**

> how appropriate is it that my grand comeback is with a klonnie fic hmm? its truly a renaissance.
> 
> thanks to matteo martari and the face that launched a thousand aus.  
> anyway, this piece is a bit of rubbish cobbled together to form some semblance of plot. inspired by thefudge and irresistible-revolution's knight klaus and queen bonnie edit, back in early 2019 when we forcefully retired jomo!klaus.  
> first fic published since 2k14 - yeah, feckin weird - so congratulations to me, commiserations to you and enjoy.

Klaus is the strongest of the knights, and the newest, and Bonnie cannot help the unease that slithers up her spine whenever he spars in the courtyard with the others, gaze flickering over her husband, his gloved hand wrapped around a dagger, a sword or a spear.

Bonnie knows all of her knights - Tyler's rage, Jeremy's insecurities, Matt's gullibility, the inflexibility and stubborn arrogance of her own husband. Yet this one remains untouched, unperceived - his face a sculpted mask giving nothing away. It is only through his body she can glean but a morsel of truth - his affinity for violence.

Bonnie tracks him the way one would a dangerous animal around the castle - keeping her distance, peering down dark corridors where he strides, his voice clipped and neutral, his squire in tow, as if this espionage will lead to some sort of understanding of his inner character.

She is not blind to men’s affection, she is Queen and knows the spark of lust and love in the eyes of whoever gazes at her. Lorenzo has always been an all-consuming fire - since she was a young girl and he was married to her predecessor -  his mouth ever-searching for her own, fingers grazing down whichever part of her he might press against in private or public.

Tyler had once looked at her with such curiosity when she was a ward of the king, but it had vanished the moment Lorenzo made it clear that he would court her. Jeremy thinks her innocent, she knows. He thinks her incapable of error or villainy or deceit. And she will not disabuse him of that notion. 

Matt is the quiet warmth at her back, of the crackling fire of warm hearth in a happy home, of her nana’s spiced milk and the golden beaches of their land. He stands at her side, far more devoted to her than the king, and Bonnie keeps him there, presses a hand to his cheek and smiles, his gaze too honoured bound to shine with something other than familial love.

She is not blind, she is not unaware nor does she play at being ignorant. Klaus’s fathomless eyes spark with attentiveness and dark intent. While his attentions are not unexpected, it hunts her down dinner tables and conference rooms. It’s markedly different than the other knights’ - from Matt and Tyler and Jeremy.

Bonnie keeps the thoughts close and the curiosity even closer. Only danger lies there, she tells herself, in the shadowy path she wishes to tread, where Klaus’s thoughts lurk and his desires resides. 

There’s nothing begotten by being a fool.

“You called for me, your Grace.”

He kneels as is customary and Bonnie’s magic stirs in his presence and she has to ball her fingers into fists beneath the sleeves of her dress. They are in the throne room, a spacious chamber where the sunlight leaves slats of gold over his pale skin, his dark hair, his dark eyes.

“I wish to welcome you, Klaus,” she smiles, a bit strained. “I fear I have been neglectful in my preoccupations and have yet to make a closer acquaintance with you.”

"You are Queen. Your preoccupations are hardly trivial."

"Still." 

“And do you extend this honour to all of your knight.”

“Only to those whom I haven't had the pleasure of knowing beforehand,” she answers, voice becoming more steady, more queenly. She is in control, she tells herself, and he wouldn’t dare to try anything, not with the sentries standing guard outside and her husband practicing in the courtyard. If she strains her ears, she can hear his voice through the glass planes, boisterous and care-free. It's a mild reassurance. 

“What do you wish to know, your Grace?"

“You may tell me of yourself and how you came to be in the service of my husband when you have forgone any heraldry and mask your identity so.”

“Your husband hasn’t informed you?” His face is open with curiosity and surprise.

Bonnie licks her bottom lip in thought, and watches how he tracks the movement before flicking his gaze upward, without a change in expression. “He only revealed to me that you saved his life and killed a once cherished friend.”

Klaus seems more embarrassed by the incident than remorseful, and it makes Bonnie’s hair stand on end. “T’was an unfortunate turn of events. Once, a long time ago, I considered Lucien a friend. He fancied himself a crusader of the people and ambushed the king in the woods. And the enemy of my -  _ our  _ king is an enemy of mine. As for my identity, I’m merely the bastard son of a noble woman, born out of wedlock and shunned by family and polite society. My allegiance is to the crown alone and would sooner wear St John red than my family’s colours, your Grace.”

“Of course. We thank you.”

They fall into silence - him waiting and her watching. They are at a standstill and Bonnie wonders if she has perhaps misjudged him and the situation entirely. Her paranoia has been a constant companion since she set shore to these lands, barely a girl of age. She does not care for his past, she realizes, but wants to know of his intentions towards her husband and herself. He fashions himself loyal and devout and worthy of sacrifice and ceremony, but there is something in the way he moves, the way he fights, observes, eats and carries himself that Bonnie thinks is inherently wrong and so unlike the other knights.

“May I speak freely, your Grace?” he asks, face tilted upwards in a paltry display of innocence and submission.

“Please.”

“Do you love your husband?” His voice is calm, conversational even, as if this was an ordinary question posed between close friends.

Bonnie balks, “Does it not seem like I do?”

Klaus smiles, his sharp angular face taking on a boyish charm, eyes shining in the sunlight that no longer feels warm. “I find you to be of the sweetest disposition and gentlest of hearts, my Queen. Intruding on such intimacies, I apologies.”

It is the emptiest apology she has ever received, the flattery even worse. “You overstep your bounds, sir knight,” she reminds him, her voice cool and firm. His mouth parts and he lets out a laugh.

“You truly are the most glorious queen,” he tells her, his tone insistent. “You are. More so than the your dearly departed predecessor. I once had the fortune of meeting her and the queen to the south. You eclipse them both.”

"I’d have you return to your duties at once,” says Bonnie, standing, trying to stem the flow of his words. He stands in turn, to his full height and gives her a deep bow that manages to be both mocking and reverent. He turns in a flurry of his black cloak, walking out of the room altogether, his footsteps disappearing down the corridor.

Bonnie’s palms are wet with sweat and blood, she has cut through the skin with her nails. Her magic is more alive than it has been years and its disconcerting. She sits back, closes her eyes and focuses on the clash of steel outside, in the courtyard, where her husband trains with her trusted knights. 

She finds no comfort in it.

His eyes are never on his food or the cup of wine in his hand. They track over her skin as if she was a painted tapestry on the wall of the palace. She wishes he would be distracted by the conversations around the table, by Matt on his side or Jeremy on the other, but nothing removes his heated gaze from her face, her neck or bare arms.

Lorenzo does not notice - he will never notice. He is arrogant and stubborn and oblivious to the form and courtesy of polite society ten years after his unlikely ascension. This is why Bonnie takes to ruling as though it was second nature, for she must temper this King and kingdom alike.

It has been but a day since their talk and Klaus’s attention upon her visage has intensified. He kneels as all others before her and Lorenzo, but he watches only her and it irks Bonnie. For is it not Lorenzo who he had sworn fealty to? Why must she suffer his scrutiny and uninvited attentions?

Inconvenient as it may be, she does not dwell on it. She has her duties to perform and Klaus is occupied with Lorenzo and his various knightly tasks. She worries but its not her sole occupation and she keeps track of justice in the kingdom, of finances and agriculture, of lawfulness and lawlessness and civil strife. Outside the castle walls, her husband kills and hunts and quells rebellions as she tends to court and courtiers. It is good balance for ruling, but not for marriage.

Bonnie arrives at the courtyard, ready for the annual pilgrimage to her grandmother’s grave and is shocked to find her husband standing with Klaus, his steed and his squire.

The words escape her throat without a thought. “What is the meaning of this? Where is Matthew?”

Lorenzo offers her a sweet smile. “Niklaus has graciously volunteered to accompany you on your journey this year, my love.”

“But I have always traveled with Matt. There is no need to break with tradition.’’

Klaus mawkishly puts a hand on his chest and says, “I’m afraid Matthew is too injured for such an arduous journey. He has been advised to take bed rest by the physician. I blame myself entirely - I may have been too enthusiastic in our mock joust. We were practicing for your name day, your Grace.”

Lorenzo waves it away. “No one is at fault. Tis the hazards of being warrior men.”

Bonnie’s head spins and she flushes with anger and fear. She wonders how her husband can be so blind to this performance, this _artifice_. 

Klaus continues, looking at her. “My sincerest apologies, your Grace. And I offer you my sword and body as your shield.’’

Bonnie feels cornered - she has no valid reason to decline his offer, even though she is certain, deep in her bones, that Klaus has engineered this outcome, that he had deliberately hurt her friend to get to her. She feels vulnerable to an attack, an entirely irrational notion to have of a knight, she is aware. But she has done everything in her power to never be alone with him and had managed it splendidly, until now.

She turns to her husband and he gives her a searing kiss, as he always does, with no regard for company and propriety and she feels cold eyes on her back, but when she turns to look, Klaus is busy mounting his horse and commanding his troops.

  
  
  
  
  


They are ambushed on their way back by bandits and Klaus is vicious as he slaughters them. For a brief moment, she assumes he has arranged this charade but the fear and anger in his face sends her hiding behind a sturdy tree. They are outnumbered and she witnesses her soldiers cut down one by one until its only Klaus left standing and -

\- her magic takes a life of its own, exploding out of her, laying waste to everyone and everything in its path. She feels every bone in her body rattle and then, the delicious intoxicating rush of _expression_ that she has learned to suppress for years, bubbling in her bloodstream, tasting of the sweetest nirvana. When she returns to herself, Klaus is staring, mouth agape and fear floods in at the realization that he has witnessed her best guarded secret and could leverage it for…..for _Qetsiyah_ only knows.

He stalks towards her like a dark creature, moonlight illuminating the woodland and his blood stained face. He steps over the corpses, friends and foe alike, with no regard or remorse, his sharp eyes trained on her. Bonnie is ready to flee or fight for her life, to do one or the other. Or both. 

She does neither.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice soft and steady.

“I’m fine.”

He stops a few feet away, breathing ragged. Bonnie surveys the damage she has caused, the evidence she has left behind in toppled trees and scorched earth and the splintered bodies of the dead and dying, strewn all over the forest. She sinks to the ground, her trembling knees giving out.

“That was an impressive feat."

He moves away and begins to check on the injured and broken bodies. Some are writhing in pain, their moans and breathes from corrupted rattling lungs creating a harsh discordant music that has Bonnie ready to prick her ears. 

Most of them are dead. 

An injured man is attempting to escape with a limp and trips. Klaus approaches him and the man hastens, only to drop again. 

He gets back up a third time.

Klaus falls into step and studies him curiously. “Where are you going, friend?”

Bonnie wants to shout a command, for Klaus to stop toying with him but she can’t manage to get the words out and helplessly watches as Klaus kicks the legs out from under him. He looms over the bandit as he tries to crawl away. “You’re hobbling farther into the forest. Tell me where you intend to go.”

“P-please sire, please -

Klaus heaves to him onto his back and crouches down. “Who sent you?”

“I don’t know sire.”

“So you attacked the Queen of your volition?”

The man’s bulging eyes land on her and she wants to shrink away in revulsion - from the fear and devotion she sees in them.

Klaus places his hand on the man’s head and says, “Yes. The beautiful lady you ambushed is our gracious Queen.”

The bandit rushes forward on his hands and knees, genuflecting. 

“My Queen! My queen, please forgive me. I wasna aware it was you. I was only given a purse and orders . I didna know.”

Before she could contemplate clemency, Klaus walks over, sword raised as if to plant a flag and to her horror, thrusts the metal into the man’s neck. The poor man’s body writhes and kicks before dropping like a sack.

Bonnie holds back the scream trying to tear itself from her throat.

Klaus moves away and continues in a similar fashion, casually roaming the forest and giving those still moving their silence by putting a sword through them. He doesn't discriminate between the bandits and the royal soldiers and resumes his earlier conversation. 

“I'm not well-learned in the matters of law or justice so forgive me if I am mistaken or speak out of turn. But I was under the impression that witchcraft has been outlawed and most practitioners have been hunted down and slaughtered like animals.” 

He comes upon his squire Joshua, a sweet young boy with a dazzling smile. He considers his wounded form for a few seconds and spares him. 

Bonnie wants to run into the woods and disappear, to let the darkness take her. She would brave the ocean and swim to the shores of her land or drown in the attempt to escape this waking dream. But she is certain Klaus would not allow her to get very far, knows that he would sooner break her legs if he had to and sling her over his broad shoulders. 

She leans against the trunk of a tree instead, willing her heart to stop hammering.

“You’re not mistaken.”

He spreads his arms out, spinning around and motions with his bloody sword at the carnage and the unmistakable scent of magic in the air.

"And yet our Most Gracious Queen is a sorceress."

"I had no choice in the matter," she bites back in anger. And then defensively, “Magic is not considered dark or unholy where I am from. We’re far more enlightened in our beliefs and do not yield easily to superstition and fanaticism like you do here.”

Klaus has moved closer and she is overwhelmed by the harsh coppery scent of blood. He is drenched in it, obscene and filthy. 

“Does the king know?”

Her candor surprises them both. “No.”

“How many times have you foiled your own assassination?”

The question catches her off-guard and it floors her, that he is able to reach this conclusion immediately. “Too many to count.”

“Such power you possess.” He crouches in front of her and looks deep into her eyes. "Such glory in the small of your hands and yet you hide it."

"My husband’s vassals despise me and circle me like vultures, waiting for the slightest misstep. They have yet to forgive Lorenzo for choosing a foreign ward for a wife over their beloved daughters. They doubly hate me for not producing an heir and if they were to know I can command the elements, they would see me burned alive in the market square. So yes, I hide it."

He considers her for a moment. Bonnie is transfixed by his severe face and the intensity within it. “We must appear like ants to you.” He reaches out to hold her shaky hands, his gloves caked in blood that stain her skin. “Fear not, your Grace. I will take this secret to the grave. I'm your liegeman of life and limb.”

Bonnie is unsettled by his familiarity and devotion.

“To what end?”

Klaus tilts his head back and lets out a laugh, his teeth long and sharp and wolfish. “To no end but the pleasure of serving a daughter of Qetsiyah.” He stands up, his figure blotting what little light the moon provided and looks down at her. "I too, am a slave to the moon and therefore hold witches in the highest regards.”

  
  
  
  
  


Bonnie’s throat is parched and ruined and she drinks down the glass of water at the table gratefully once the rest of the council has exited the room. She stares balefully at the stack of papers on the table and wonders which councilman will engage her in debate the next day over altering a law or request mass expulsion of the refugees.

He sneaks up behind her without her knowledge as she busily stacks her papers. It isn't until he chuckles softly beside her that she whips around, eyes wide, jaw clenched, ready for an assault.

“Klaus,” she greets icily, regaining her composure quickly.

“My Queen,” he bows low and straightens up with a smile. “I hear Lord Gilbert,” and here Bonnie freezes, the name her staunch opponent on Klaus’s tongue bringing her confusion and fear, “obtains votes deceitfully from his peers by coin rather than fair debate.”

“Indeed?” Bonnie doesn't look at him and returns to clearing the table. “You hear things that do not concern you, knight.”

Klaus smiles. “I simply thought to relay the information to those it may concern.”

“You would do well to busy yourself with the protection of my husband," she says sternly and straightens her spin to glare up at his impossibly dark eyes. “Instead of playing at politics.”

Her thoughts are swirling trying to decipher his motivation, and she recalls him bloodied and bathed in the moonlight.

He steps back, hearing the dismissal loud and clear, anger writ large on his forehead. “As you wish, your Grace.”

By the time he leaves, Bonnie can feel the first twinges of it - of true power - right at her fingertips, ready to spark against the wood of the council table and set everything ablaze.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The council debates strain on her patience, swinging this way and that, never settling on one majority or another. Bonnie moderates and walks a fine line between queenly and vicious - she is tempted to abolish parliament all together and set up a monarchical dictatorship. But she understands the shadows of democracy that lurk, the importance of the smallfolk, and not sowing the enmity of the nobles who own the lands of her kingdom and placed Lorenzo on the throne.

Still, she addresses them at the start of the sessions, insisting on honesty and decorum and plain-speaking, her words honeyed sweet but her eyes sharp as they land on Lord Gilbert.

Ruling is ever a complicated occupation and so Bonnie doesn't take kindly to anyone interrupting whatever little respite she manages to secure in her office. 

“Evening Klaus,” she almost snarls. “Anything you’d like?”

Klaus is slow, careful, carrying himself in his black tunic, absent chainmail and cape, his sword strapped to his hip. He resembles a crow, she thinks absently. He observes the contents of the table more than her and she stares at him expectantly, waiting for a response. 

Finally his eyes meet hers. ‘‘Tis been a busy week for you, no?”

“And yet you insist on wasting my time,” she snaps.

“I only wish to speak to you about a long-held rumour. It would mean much if I could get some clarity.” He deliberately seats himself next to her, their knees almost touching, placing them at equals at the table. He smells of soap and sweat and frankincense. 

Bonnie gives in, for fostering a good relationship with one of her husbands knight’s and the keeper of her secret was the smarter play.

“Speak your mind then,” she says.

“You and the king plotted together to rid himself of his late wife and for you to take her place.”

Bonnie’s mind stutters to a halt. A flood of darkness threatens to swallow her and she can still feel the horrifying, suffocating grief of Lorenzo, his face buried in the folds of her dress, Bonnie caressing his weeping form as her mistress, his wife, laid in her bed, on the cusp of death.

Klaus tilts his head, observing her tense form. “It is said, your Grace, that you had designs on the throne from a very young age and that you practiced dark magic to turn his heart. For how else would good king Lorenzo set aside his loving bride and lavish her lady-in-waiting with attention and riches.”

She wants to strike him, to sink her nails into his hungry face. She wants to scream. She wants to unleash her fury with a pulse of expression so strong, it would reduce this castle, this city, this thrice damned kingdom to rubble and ash.

Klaus is studying her, his knee brushing against her own. She forces the words out, behind the lump perpetually lodged in her throat. “Do you think so little of me?”

“I do not.”

“And yet you so readily believe the whispers and innuendos of my enemies!”

“Tis why I approached you, directly. To understand and to ask if you will have me do something about it.”

She realizes, belatedly, that she had, in her heart of hearts, been glad to have found some form of kinship in Klaus, to have found another displaced soul. 

“I haven’t used to magic for any other purpose but to protect myself from those who wish me harm.”

“Of course.”

She glances at him. “Lorenzo loved his wife and he mourned her. He is a good man and a good king.”

“He _is_ a good man,” he agrees, his voice tinged with disappointment. “But you are a far better queen.”

“You tread treasonous grounds, sir." Her smile is sharp as a dagger.

He snaps up the parting words as he is wont to do when he stands up to indicate his leave. “I only follow in your footsteps, my Queen.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Bonnie is weary and bone-tried and the situation in the council room has been borderline treasonous in their flagrant disregard for her authority. All the men are taking their cues from Lord Gilbert, a cowardly weasel she wishes to nail to the stone floors. He is emboldened by the absence of Lorenzo who has taken off on an ill-advised long procession with half of the household staff. And as her stresses mount, so does her paranoia. She refused to touch her food all day, feigning nausea and hoping the maids and palace rumour mill would do the rest, spreading the word that she has. perhaps finally, _Qetsiyah_ willing, managed to conceive.

She has sequestered herself in her chambers and offices, persistently trailed by two sentries for her protection. She occasionally catches the sight of Klaus’ back as he disappears round the bend of corridors, his black cape billowing like a cloud of smoke. She hears his voice, commanding and strong through the open windows of her bedchambers in the early mornings, training his squire and troops. He has made himself scarce and hasn’t accosted her since their tete-a-tee a fortnight ago. It should bring her some measure of comfort and peace of mind, but all it does is set her teeth on edge. 

It’s two weeks into her confinement, five since Lorenzo has set off when she finally adjusts to the half-empty castle and the cold bed. Bonnie finds being the sole regent and the keeper of her castle agreeable and doesn’t dwell on why she has barely missed her husband.

“I have drawn your bath, your Grace?’’ April informs her as soon as Bonnie walks into her room.

“Thank you.”

She is already weary of her tasks on the morrow- she worries about the courtiers, of the civil strife that has drained their coffers and the debt they owe to various lords up and down the country. She wants to end the strives in the kingdom in conciliation - war is too bloody and costly and not something they can afford in the current climate but Lorenzo does not understand nor respect these gentler approaches. He has always been a man of the sword, a warrior king with a thirst for blood. In all her preoccupation, she has failed to notice that April has stopped unlacing her corset. 

Something cold and sharp presses against her neck and it takes Bonnie an embarrassingly long time for the blade, the bite of it and the dripping wetness to register in her brain. She stiffens in shock - a shock that yields to disappointment because she has always been fond of April.

‘’You will hang for this,’’ she warns the young woman, her voice steady and fingers sparking with chaos and magic.

April raises her voice and speaks over her head, calling to two hooded figures armed with daggers. A curious unsettling calm washes over Bonnie and she reigns in her power, makes her intentions loud and clear for Qetsiyah to hear.

Maim, don't kill.

The words form easily  _ phasmatos morsinus pyrox allum _

They drop to the floor in pain, bodies contorted to writhing squirming heap and Bonnie flies out the door and down the long empty corridor, heart in her throat and as she turns the corner, crashes into a firm body.

Her hand is raised in front of her, an offensive spell at the ready but relaxes at the welcome sight of Klaus. Her shaky fingers grip at his tunic. “They tried to kill me. In my chambers!’’ She sounds hysterical to hear own ears, like a frightened child and nothing like a regal queen. Klaus touches her without permission or reverence, his hand coming away red with blood and his face contorts in anger. He unsheaths his sword, motioning for her to stay close as he walks down the hall with long purposeful strides. She follows at a sedate pace, the terror abating some in his company, something she plans to examine at a later time.

Klaus grips her by the arm and pulls her into the room quickly before shutting the door and barricading it. He moves to inspect the bodies, unmasking one assassin and then another with a chilly disregard for their pain. 

Finally, he turns to her, his smooth features creased with lines. He looks displeased, agitated and dark. 

He looks beautiful, she thinks absurdly. 

Out loud, she says “I do not mean for them to be killed."

She recalls his macabre dance in the woods as he snuffed out every single breath of the wounded and dying. She had nightmares for weeks, guilt making everything taste of ash. 

He regards her with an unreadable expression and speaks in low dulcet tone. "We must respond with swiftness, your Grace. We shall have them cropped by their necks in the courtyard for all to see."

"No."

"Now is not the time - "

"Have them imprisoned in the dungeon and -"

"With respect!" he bellows, startling Bonnie. "I admire your restraint and your gentle heart, I really do, but this can not stand. This is no light provocation." He points at her lady-in-waiting, curled in the corner, convulsing in agony. "There is no integrity in your house. Tis infested with rats and snakes and woodworm, for how else could they have gained entry to Her Majesty’s private quarters. Twice they have attacked you within a year and I fear these audacious acts will only grow in frequency and number."

He approaches her in increments, slow and deliberate until his boots scuff her toes. Klaus grabs her by the elbows and looks deep into her eyes. "It would not be a show of foul temper if you were to respond with aggression. It would be a show of strength."

Bonnie clutches his forearms, faint now that the adrenaline has receded and her body shivers at the cold. She realizes that she is standing before him in a state of undress, the shift barely hiding her naked form. She extricates herself and crosses her arms over her chest for modesty. 

Klaus decently avert his eyes as she wraps a shawl over herself. She moves to sit down on her bed as the exhaustion takes over her body.

"Very well. But I want them questioned. I need to know whose animus runs deep enough to dare and try to topple their queen in her own home."

A half-smile breaks his severe face. "Leave it to me. My men will uncover the root of this conspiracy."

It alarms her in a distant way, how he easily he admits to having men unflinchingly loyal to him. It is a cause for worry. That he can command such faithfulness so flagrantly under the king’s nose. For one brief instant, the militant and bellicose part of her brain paints Klaus as her tormentor and harasser. 

"I would much prefer it if you handled it personally. I do not want to give them the chance to accuse me of witchcraft in between bouts of torture."

"It will be dealt with most discreetly. I shall cut out their tongues once I had my fill. Do not worry yourself."

Bonnie glances at April, now lying unconscious and wonders if there is anyone left to trust. They had grown up together, considered each other friends and yet she was willing to kill her. 

There is no one to trust in this nest of vipers.

The whimpering of the assassins grate on her nerves and she spells them to sleep for some peace and quiet.

"Will you wait for his majesty’s arrival before you deal with them?" Klaus asks.

Bonnie doesn't even wrestle with the thought. "No. The sooner you extract the answers I seek, the sooner they can be axed."

"As you command."

She closes her eyes, relishing the silence. A few seconds later, the mattress sinks with his heavy weight and she turns to look at him. He reaches for her neck again and she trembles at the touch of his naked fingers. "You are hurt."

Bonnie leans toward his heat. "It does not hurt."

He cradles her cheek and she allows it.

In the morning she will blame it on the fatigue, on narrowly escaping death, and the gaping loneliness she has had to contend with for years. 

He unlaces her shift, exposing her breasts. 

She allows it.

His fingers dance between her thighs and she falls back into the mattress that no longer smells of her husband and opens up, like a lotus, and drinks his kisses, his warmth, his hunger, his seed until she is full and fat and ripe with it.

Until she explodes.

And when he chases her off the precipice, whispering her name softly into her ear -

That too, she allows.

  
  
  
  
  


On the eve of one more long-awaited departure, Lorenzo presses his hot mouth against her own and kisses the breath of her as if it the last time he will ever receive it. Bonnie’s fingers catch around his neck and she tries to discern his intentions behind his eyes, but he only smiles, touches her rounded belly and slips away from her grasp.

“You have been to many wars, and you have returned from them every single time,” she reminds him. “You have the gods and your men and my blessings.”

"I fear something feels different this time," he tells her, face open and honest.

Bonnie thinks of the darkness in her dreams of late, of the greedy noblemen, each of them a sovereign in their imaginary kingdoms, of Klaus’s deceptive smile and hooded eyes, tasting her skin.

“You will come back. I know it." She doesn’t of course, but it reassures him and he parts from her with a stride in his step.

She doesn't step out to the balcony per custom, nor does she visit the stables where the knights are gathering their horses and instead, observes them from the second floor window, watching as two, three, four men gather in the courtyard, idly waiting for others.

Klaus comes up behind her, seemingly not in a hurry, his pack in hand. He stands beside her, bowing his head. “My queen.”

“Klaus,” greets Bonnie, unprepared for this meeting and feeling exposed and scared, irrational after everything that has transpired between. 

“Did you wish Lorenzo goodbye?” he asks as if he is allowed to pry into her personal affairs now. She only has herself to blame, she supposes.

“Yes,” Bonnie replies, the word slipping from her without permission. She recovers quickly and says “You better hurry along Klaus. It seems the others have already claimed their steeds and are waiting on you.”

“Yes,” he nods but doesn't move, eyes trained on her rounded belly with intensity. She feels her magic calling out to him. “You once asked about my motivation in serving Lorenzo, many moons ago.”

"That I did," she allows, cautious.

"I had no answer then," he says. "He was a good man and I was honoured to serve under him. But you... you are a  _ revelation." _

Bonnie stiffens, grounding her feet against the stones as if to reassure herself that she can escape, flee from his haunting gaze and his inordinate attention,

“You should make haste, Klaus,” she whispers, her voice failing her.

“Yes. But I will come back,” he promises and takes her hand, placing a soft and sweet kiss in her palm. 

He walks away without a backward glance.

A few minutes later, he appears in the courtyard. Bonnie peaks out and Lorenzo waves at her. She wonders if he notices how she watches Klaus intently beside him, how he grips the sword handle as if he is ready to use it, eyes flickering from her to her husband. 

Danger, screams Bonnie’s nerves, but she is too high up to stop them from leaving through the castle gates.

  
  
  
  
  


Lorenzo dies in the war and Matt delivers the news with an ache in his soul and regret etched deep within his expression. She holds his shoulder and mourns with him quietly, his forehead pressed against her cheek as he cries and apologizes for failing her.

Many of the knights and soldiers return, grievously injured, and Klaus is one of them, his skin paler than usual, his waist bandaged up but his eyes remain bright and attentive. He finds her when she visits the medical station where the physicians attend to the wounded.

“Do you mourn, my Queen?” he asks her, and Bonnie doesn't deign him with a response. It does not seem to stop his mouth at all. “He fought valiantly, Lorenzo did."

Past tense, Bonnie thinks and it comes so easily to his lips and even easier to her thoughts as well, and while it alarms her in some vague way, it is not entirely surprising. She had loved Lorenzo, but she has also resented him for shackling her to him and his throne and his cause.

“They will cast him off tomorrow,” she tells him. ’Do make sure you pay your appropriate respects by the morning.’

"Will you be present?" he asks.

Bonnie looks at him. "I am Queen and he was my husband.”

“Yes, you are,” he sighs as though content . ”I hope to see you in the morning then.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The knights, soldiers, noblemen and mourners gather at the courtyard where Lorenzo’s body is dressed and made up - looking as kingly in death as he did life. Bonnie stands beside the stretcher  with Tyler on the other side, stone-faced in his grief. When noon hits, the knights gather the body to put it on a horse drawn cart. Klaus and Matt steer a second horse cart with a boat, and they travel out of the city and down a path where the lake resides to give him a burial at sea. Bonnie is against this but she keeps her protestation to herself - she has called this place home for many years and still she is confounded by their irreverence for their dead. 

They do not return until nightfall. Bonnie locks herself in her chambers and touches her dry cheeks and wonders what eats at her. There are men in the throne room, she knows, who will usurp her position and will do so in spite of the knowledge that she carries the future king or queen. Lord Gilbert and his ilk - back-stabbing and cruel and murderous. Political people with no heart for ruling and oblivious to the mood of the people.

The knights are loyal but to a dead king. Though she knows without a shred of doubt that Matt and Tyler and all the rest of them will aid her in any physical bout she must win, they cannot operate in the shadows. They are loyal, light bound creatures. Made for fighting honorably.

It takes Bonnie a week to gather the courage to summon him to her chambers, and while her guts twists with terror and her growing child, something in her knows. Knows Klaus or supposes at his designs behind those glittering eyes and still face.

  
  
  
  
  
  


After the banquet, she retreats to her rooms and awaits his arrival, fingers brushing over Lorenzo’s will that declared her regent and her child the heir apparent. She recalls his sweet face, beaming with adoration and joy at the news that he would finally be a father. How he had called for a feast and sent a royal pardon for all the convicted criminals across the land. How the castle and city had bustled with revelry for three days and three nights and how Klaus watched, a smile dancing on his lips as he went down on one knee, congratulating her husband and herself.

It takes half an hour for a knock to sound on her door and a maid to introduce the Knight Klaus into the chamber. Klaus is dressed in a white tunic, dark trousers and boots, and his hair wet and slicked back. Noticeably, he is without his cape and sword, but a knife is tucked in his belt. He seems younger and boyish and it's a comforting sight for Bonnie.

“My Queen,” he bows low. Bonnie gestures for him to sit in the chair before the desk and he obliges without a word.

“I would have a request.”

"Anything."

She steeples her fingers and fixes him with a serious gaze. "You once told me that my castle is infested with rats and snakes and woodworm.”

“I have.”

“One does not ensure the longevity and security of their rule by ignoring or attempting to reason with such infestation.” She holds a hand to her stomach, senses her child, _their_ child, and she knows she is doing right by them. “I need someone I can rely on. You have proven yourself… useful and proficient in disposing of such vermin.”

Klaus’s eyes shine like embers in the dimly lit-room and she knows he understands. "I would have you intercept any and all plots against the crown on my behalf. I would have you remove my enemies discreetly and efficiently." 

He leans forward with a contemplative expression. “Such an operation would require a considerable amount of coin and manpower.”

“And you shall have it.”

“It would also require a certain bit of leeway.”

“Granted.” And softly, “Niklaus, I do not desire your submission, nor do I wish for you to jump to my attention with cold courtesy and false flattery. I simply ask of you to always speak to me clear and true.’’

His smile is a playful thing. “And I  _ simply _ agree to your every demand."

She fights off a smile of her own. "Very well. Lord Gilbert will not be returning home tonight. His body will be recovered in the lower streets by an unsuspecting individual on the morrow. His coin purse will be missing and it will appear as if it was a common thievery gone wrong."

"Done.”

When she reaches for him and their lips meets, he tastes of mint and smoke and magic, heat unlike anything Lorenzo possessed and the darkest secret she has always guarded breaks free and slips into her blood as Klaus pulls away, one hand on her cheek, the other on her stomach, murmuring her name.

Bonnie’s hand tremble, dripping with the unshed blood of all those she has yet to condemn but Klaus holds her with his own - long and pale and equally stained. 

And it feels like deliverance.


End file.
